Plucky
by catharticone
Summary: No matter what, she was always his plucky little Rose Tyler.TenRose.


_"Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC. No infringement is intended. _

_I'd like to leave a special thanks to Sonic Jules for her encouragement and enthusiasm._

* * *

She'd been called a lot of things in her life, some good and some less flattering, but "plucky" was a label she'd never heard applied to herself until she met the Doctor. In actuality it took him quite a while to think of it, but once he'd stumbled upon it he seemed quite fond of it.

"Plucky, Rose Tyler, that's what you are!" he declared as they clattered across the console room floor. The door had just slammed behind them, mercifully separating them from the small horde of tusked creatures that had pursued them rather relentlessly for several hours.

"Yep," he added as they huffed up the ramp to the controls, "plucky, pluckity, pluck!"

"Y'make me sound… like a chicken!" Rose complained affectionately, although it took her several tries to complete the thought, as she was still gasping for breath.

He grinned at her as he twisted a dial then pulled one of the levers. The TARDIS shook, and the gears ground, but they both felt the ship dematerialize successfully.

"Can't say I'm not glad to leave there," the Time Lord commented.

"What? You didn't fancy those things?"

"Not particularly. You?"

She shrugged. "Well, if it weren't for those tusks, they'd look a little like panda bears—kinda cuddly, yeah?"

"Pandas really aren't cuddly at all when it comes down to it, and they can have fierce tempers," he informed her. "'Course they don't lasso you and drag you off to a pit to wait to be devoured, either."

Rose grimaced at the very recent memory. Her arms still ached from her efforts to follow the Doctor up out of the pit, climbing hand-over-hand along a vine he'd managed to pull down after hours and hours of trying. Then the chase had begun…

She sank down into the seat by the console and yawned. The Doctor was still moving about, from lever to lever, tapping at a wire or button now and then. She wondered if he ever got tired. The mere thought of it made her yawn again.

Suddenly he was standing right in front of her. He pointed to the clock on the console. "Nearly twenty hours," he said.

She blinked at him in confusion. "What?"

"It's been nearly twenty hours since you slept," he clarified.

"'M okay," she replied, but another yawn forced its way out.

He reached for her elbow and pulled her up. "You're tired."

"Thought you said I was plucky."

"That, too," he smiled, "but even the pluckiest of humans need to rest. Get some sleep, Rose."

He led her toward the ramp and watched as she shuffled down.

"Promise you won't go off anywhere while I'm sleepin'?" she asked. "Wouldn't wanna miss anything excitin'."

"Nope, you won't—unless you count recalibrating the temporal phase stabiliser. Now that's what I call a fun time."

"G'night, Doctor."

"Night, Rose. Sleep well."

She slipped out the door with every intention of doing just that.

* * *

But there is an expression about good intentions and a certain road which is paved with them… And despite her best efforts, Rose's sleep was invaded by a rather dreadful nightmare. She'd been in bed for less than two hours when she began moving, arms and legs flailing in an attempt to flee. She moaned, a reflection of the cries she made in the dream.

The Doctor was dozing beside the console when he heard her. He opened his eyes, wondering at first if his ship were making some sort of odd noise. He listened, placing his hand upon the central column, and knew within a few moments that the TARDIS was running quietly.

He stood abruptly, hurrying out into the corridor. It took him only a second or two to determine that the noise was coming from Rose's room. He hastened to her doorway then paused. Sometimes he forgot that humans felt a need for boundaries. His nature was to dive in head-first, no matter what the situation, and he had to remind himself that Rose might not want that. But she was whimpering, and panting a little, and she sounded very distressed, and it was probably just a bad dream. But maybe she really was in trouble…

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. Rose was lying among a knot of twisted blankets. Her eyes were closed, but her hands and feet moved jerkily. Her expression was one of terrible fright, and the whimpers were rising in volume and pitch to become cries.

He sat down beside her and took one of her hands in his.

"Rose," he said gently.

She gasped and tried to pull her hand away, and he realized that his actions must have been perceived as some sort of capture by her dreaming mind. He released her hand and rested his palm against her cheek, stroking softly.

"It's all right, Rose," he offered, keeping his voice low. "Sshh."

She mumbled something unintelligible, then her breath caught and she released a sob. It took him a few moments to realize that she had begun to cry in earnest. The sobs were rough, panted noises, but tears were seeping from her closed eyes.

"Aw, no Rose, no, no, no…" His voice was louder now, firmer. "Come on, Rose, wake up."

She responded with another choked sob and a deep shudder. She was breathing very fast now, and beneath his fingers he could feel the rapid pulse beat in her temple. He didn't like the effect the dream was having on her; it was time to wake her up.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and took them. "Rose." He gave her a little shake.

She made a noise halfway between a squeak and a grunt. He shook her a second time, no harder, and spoke her name again.

Her eyes flew open, bright with tears, and she gasped. He gathered her into his arms.

"It's all right. It was just a bad dream," he told her.

She remained rigid for an instant then melted into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He felt her exhale deeply then sniffle at the remnants of tears. He didn't even realize that he was moving his hand up and down her back until he felt the coolness of her skin through the thin fabric of the old tee she'd slipped on before crawling into bed.

"You're cold," he said, pulling back a little so that he could wrap his hands around her arms. "That must've been some dream."

She shook her head. "Sorry—didn't mean to."

"Didn't mean to what?" He reached for one of the blankets, trying to disentangle it from the sheet.

"Y'know…" She shrugged.

"What? Have a bad dream?" He was still working at the blankets, but he glanced up at her. Her brow was creased with anxiety.

"Stupid, yeah?" she muttered.

"You can't control your dreams, Rose."

She still looked worried. He took her hand.

"Sorry I bothered you," she said softly, looking away toward the wall.

"No bother—in fact, it gave me something to do. That recalibration was getting a bit old… nearly bored me to sleep, actually."

"You were sleeping? Sorry—"

"Rose, it's fine." He reached for the blanket. "You okay now?"

She nodded. But she was still cold, and he saw a shiver run through her. She was only wearing the roomy tee, and her bare legs lay across the mattress. He began to pull up the blanket from the foot of the bed. She shifted her legs, curling them as she suddenly became aware of her rather scanty attire. Her right leg came into view, and as he lifted the blanket toward her, he saw a large bruise and several smaller marks on the outside of her thigh, about six inches above her knee.

He paused, blanket still in his hand, and asked, "Where'd you get these?"

She looked down. "Dunno. S'pose when those things were chasin' us, or maybe climbin' up outta the pit."

He placed the blanket over her feet and ankles then touched the bruise with his fingertips. "Does it hurt?"

She flinched a little. "Does now."

"Sorry."

He reached into his pocket for his glasses, murmuring "lights" as he did. The dim room was suddenly well illuminated. Slipping on the spectacles, he bent forward to peer at her thigh.

"Don't know how you didn't feel this 'til now."

"S'pose I was thinkin' about other things, like keepin' alive," she replied.

The Doctor was too busy studying her leg to respond. The bruise was nearly as large as his palm, and he could see the network of tiny broken blood vessels on the surface of her skin. The area was slightly raised, and it only took one gentle touch for him to determine that there was some swelling. The marks beside the bruise were also raised, red and irritated, and when he leaned in a little more closely he could see that each was a small injury in its own right.

"Remember those hairs sticking out next to their tusks?" he asked her.

She grimaced. "Yeah. Ick."

"Well, they aren't really hairs; they're bristles, or maybe quills is a better word. Anyway, looks like one of those cuddly panda things must've hit you with its tusk and dislodged a few quills into your leg for good measure."

"I take it back about them bein' sorta cuddly," Rose retorted.

He touched one of the little bumps, and she sucked in a breath. "That hurt?" he asked, then he touched another.

"Yeah. So could you stop doin' that?"

He looked up at her. "Right. This is going to get worse the longer these stay in you." He hopped up. "Hang on a tick. I'll be right back."

He scurried out of the room, leaving Rose to sit and rub at the pain that was rapidly spreading through her leg.

* * *

He was gone a lot longer than a tick, and by the time the Doctor returned, Rose's leg was throbbing. He removed a few items from his pockets, setting them on the night table before pulling up a chair next to the bed. When he finally got around to looking at her face, his expression changed to one of deep concern.

"Blimey, Rose, you're white as a sheet," he said with a frown.

"Hurts," she replied.

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "Thing is—and I just remembered this now—well, really a few minutes ago, but I wanted to gather up what I needed without wasting any more time—"

Rose rolled her eyes at him. "Which you're not doin' now, are you?"

"The quills," he continued, unperturbed, "have a substance on the tip that numbs the tissue, so you don't feel them as they go in, and the area stays numb for, oh, I don't know, couple of hours, I suppose, and then, wham, it wears off, and you're left with—"

"A major pain," she finished through gritted teeth.

"Explains why you didn't feel it, anyway," he said. He put on his glasses again and bent to examine her leg. "Better get these out. They can cause some necrosis."

"What's that?"

"Tissue death."

Rose inhaled sharply.

He glanced up at her anxious face. "Nothing serious at this point, and nothing I can't fix, but the sooner I get these out, the better."

He placed his left hand on her leg, just above the knee, then reached over to the table to retrieve a small spray bottle. He released a fine mist over the injury. It felt very cold for a moment, then the pain subsided.

"Feels numb," Rose commented, relieved to have a respite from the pain.

"That's the idea. Now keep still."

The Doctor took up a pair of tweezers with a very fine tip and pressed the little instrument against one of the tiny wounds. Rose watched in abject fascination as he pulled a short, needle-like quill from her leg. Blood began to well from the small injury immediately, but he was undeterred and moved on to the next one. Within a few minutes he had removed all of the quills. He gave the entire area a generous spray from another bottle then swabbed each wound carefully. When he'd finished, he bent in closely to study the remaining marks.

"Hmm, little bit of necrosis, just as I thought."

Despite his earlier reassurance, Rose flinched at the word and its meaning. He smiled up at her and reached for an instrument that resembled his sonic screwdriver. He switched it on and ran the pale lavender beam over her leg.

The anaesthetic had begun to wear off, and she could feel a light tingling in her skin. When he placed his hand on her thigh to probe about gently, she felt that, too. His fingers were warm and soft, and his touch light, and she felt a little shiver run through her.

He looked up at her. "That's it. Good as new."

She permitted her eyes to move down. The bruise had faded considerably, and the little red bumps had subsided to vague pinpricks.

"How'd you do that?" she asked, a hint of wonder in her voice.

"Tissue regenerator," he replied, pointing at the instrument.

She ran her palm over the nearly healed skin. "You're pretty good."

"Yep." He began putting the items back into his pocket.

When he looked up at her again, she was yawning.

"You only slept a couple of hours," he reminded her, reaching for the blanket to pull it over her as she settled back against the pillows. "Think you can sleep now?"

Rose nodded. "I don't usually have nightmares," she replied rather apologetically.

"Probably due to your leg," the Doctor said. "I think now that's sorted you won't have anything to disturb your sleep."

He tucked the blanket around her shoulders then gave her an affectionate kiss on the forehead. As he was walking toward the door, she spoke again.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"Still think I'm plucky?"

He smiled and turned back to her. "Pluckier than ever now."

She frowned a little. "Don't think I like that term anymore." She yawned again.

"Really? Why not?"

"Reminds me of you pluckin' out those quills."

"Oh. Point taken—er, maybe that's not the best phrase, either."

"Maybe you can think of somethin' else," she murmured sleepily.

He watched her eyes close then waited another minute until her breathing slowed to indicate steady, soft slumber.

"Don't worry," he said gently, "I will, and it'll be even better."

He left her to sleep, his plucky little Rose Tyler.


End file.
